June 30
by Splintered Star
Summary: Jonathan Harker spent many nights in the Count's castle, haunted by the night demons... A missing journal entry. Stroker's Bookverse, implied slash.


(T. Implied slash and dubious concent. Betaed and co-written by the wonderful Desdinova. Dracula is not mine.)

June 30

It is now shortly before dawn. I have long given up on sanity, but regardless have continued to write here. Even in this hellish half-sleep, my dreams trouble me. Do I dare to hope them dreams, and nothing more? In this demon's lair, I trust neither reason nor hope. I will record those fevered images here, hoping that I will find some incongruous fact or leap of logic that will prove them false, and me sane.

I woke from furtive sleep, and found myself lying on the floor by my bed. I had not the strength or will to move from where I had fallen the night before. The night was dark, more so than it had been, as the moon waned and set early. A lamp stood just beyond my reach. I remembered what lay outside my room and grimaced at the memory. Even my room which had promised scant protection against them was sanctuary no longer. The deepening shadows were oppressive, more real than the wan light that pervaded the gloom. Still, I did not get up to light a lamp.

It was then that I saw the mist. Fog, billowing under the door, began to fill the chamber, which grew clammy and damp. Outside, I could hear wolves raise their voices in eerie chorus, and my skin prickled in dread. The very sound of it roused me from my stupor. I looked wildly round me, seeking some exit, but found none. Once again, I had crossed the boundary from reality to hideous waking nightmare. I had seen this terrible transformation before, and wished to God I had never seen such a thing. Even as his body formed from the mist, I knew my assailant for who he was, for were not those vile women forbidden from my room? Despair turned my limbs to lead, and my mind froze in numb terror, much as animals will when facing death. I could no longer even hope for rescue, but only bleakly hope that my end should come quickly.

Oh, would that I could persuade myself that this was all a dream, and that I could wake to safety in Mina's arms, far from this refuge of demons! But logic, as unreliable it is in this place, demands that what I saw is so, and thus I must believe it.

I cannot say for certain what the Count did in my room, or even how he looked, but as I have done elsewhere, I will say what I believe. I can say little else. He looked youthful in the dimming light, even more than he had when I had seen him lying in his coffin. So much so that had I met him on the streets of London, I should have taken him as a contemporary, if a foreigner, and paid him no notice. I would not have recognized him even now if I had not known him.

His malicious smile widened as he approached me. I did not greet him, or even truly acknowledge his presence, as manners would demand of me. It was as if I were not quite awake and the world was being filtered through a cloud of indifference. I felt so lethargic, but I did not think of closing my eyes. I merely gazed at him dumbly as he stopped before me.

What happened next goes almost beyond all other horrors to which I have been witness. If this is a dream, it is one too awful to recall. But better that by far than to acknowledge the reality of it. I must cling steadfastly to the most flimsy shreds of hope, for I have little else to cling to now. I was drawn unresistingly to my feet – I say so because it was not by my will that I rose – and stared with unwilling gaze into eyes that would have graced the very Devil himself. He whispered, "Tomorrow I shall leave you to my brides, but tonight is mine." He leaned forward and - No, no. I cannot bear to remember. Would that I were blinded forever rather than to recall the sight!

My body shakes even yet to think of it. My body pressed so closely to his, his repulsive, blood-crimsoned lips on mine, those hard hands imprisoning me, forcing me back onto the bed to… I, I cannot continue. Merely thinking of it is making me nauseous. I did not resist or object. In my madness, I spoke familiarly to him, of England and Carfax and – my God, of Mina. Please, God, let it be a dream!

It was on the bed that I awoke, dressed as I had been last night. I still do not know if it was truth or illusion, life or nightmare, nor do I wish to. There was no evidence that anything occurred, but I do not doubt his ability to disguise the obvious. It is dawn, now, and I am safe – as safe as I can be in this shadow of hell.

…But I cannot leave this diary entry here. If by grace, I escape or die outside this castle, it could get back to Mina, dear Mina and it would only cause her more pain. It is enough that I suffer through the memory. I will not inflict it on her. I shall tear it out, burn it, and banish forever this nightmare. May God himself take mercy upon me, for I have naught else.

(end)

This is the only idea I've ever had for this book. My good friend Desdinova convinced me to write it, and then took what I had written and turned it into the story that it is now. I wouldn't have done this on my own, because I'm not that good.

I hope you enjoyed it.


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